


Paint By Numbers

by Constellatius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is a dork, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Reference to Spanking, naked!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constellatius/pseuds/Constellatius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is Cas's own personal canvas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint By Numbers

Dean wakes up to a strange tickling on his ass. It feels like fine brush strokes sweeping over his cheeks. He blinks slowly, lashes fluttering against the pillow his face is mashed into, he sighs into the warm, soft pillow. He catches the sight of 04:54 flashing though his sleep heavy eyes.

‘What you doin’ angel?’ He mumbles catching a mouthful of plush covers.

‘Nothing beloved,’ Dean feels the warm of his words breeze over his freckled skin. ‘Go back to sleep.’ Cas replies, He sighs happily, wiggling his hips and sliding his hands under his chest. He hears Cas chuckle, placing a kiss on his ass.

‘Kay, love you.’

‘I love you too.’

\---------------------------------------

It’s just before noon when Dean rouses from his sleep, the taste of half-remembered dreams on his lips. The left side of his bed is cold, the pillow next to him dented, dark hairs straying over the white case. He reaches for Cas’s pillows, tugging it under his arm and inhaling the heady smell of bronze and cinnamon.

He shuffles out of bed, leaving the pillow behind. His naked skin pimples at the sudden temperature change, bones snapping as he stretches. Biting back a yawn Dean scratches his ass. His brow furrows, his fingertips are covered in black paint. 

Dean tries to twist himself to see his ass but the attempt is fruitless. He groans, touching his ass again. Shuffling over to the mirror standing tall in the right corner. Three photos are clipped to the golden frame. The antique frame reminds Dean of growing up on the road, tall churches providing shelter from midnight storms and drunk fathers. He traces Cas’s smiling face, the same smile curling his lips.

In the mirror he sees himself reflected shoulders broad and strong. He feels lighter for the first time in years. He thinks he stands a little taller, his thighs a little tighter and his back a little straighter. Dean pushes his hands down his hips, and over his curved cheeks. He is freckled and a little red, if he squints he can almost see Cas’s handprints from last night. 

Turning to the side he sees a smear of black paint on his right ass cheek. He can barely make out a heart with an arrow through the middle. The dream of gentle brush strokes now makes sense. Dean guesses Cas woke up halfway through the night, restless from dreams and a day’s hunt. It would hardly be the first time Cas had got bored and used Dean as his personal canvas. He has a fascination at seeing Dean littered with hickeys and his freckles joined with thin lines like constellations in the night sky. 

Standing on his tip toes, his neck craned, Dean mouths the words covering his cheeks. 

‘I hope your day is as nice as your butt.’


End file.
